Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
His free hand wraps around the front of my throat, his thumb on one side and his fingers on the other. He tightens his grip. “It’s a good thing I don’t like nice.” With just that hold, he pulls me toward him, his mouth taking mine again.
Hard.
Fast.
Deep.
I can’t breathe. As his tongue slips between my lips, the taste of fine Irish whiskey fills me. He growls low, pushing me down to the left, his mouth brutal on mine. I fight to free my wrists, but his strength far outmatches mine. I thought he’d kissed me before.
Not like this.
There isn’t anything like this.
My mouth opens under his, and I take him in. Rough callouses brush my ribcage, and I jerk, realizing my hands are free.
He caresses up my ribcage, a hard press, and cups my breast.
I murmur a protest into his mouth, and he pulls at my nipple. Not hard. Not gentle, either. I gasp and my body takes over, pressing against him. Right against his cock, which seems to be trying to escape the confines of his pants.
He moves to the other breast, and the tug this time holds more pain.
Enough to shoot lightning through me and wetness from my core.
His chuckle into my mouth is dark. Filling me, taking over, just like the rest of him.
He releases my throat, and I have a second of relief, until he tangles those long fingers in my hair and jerks my head back, his mouth unrelenting as he takes from me. But the heat he gives, oh God, it’s all encompassing. Everywhere.
He isn’t gentle as he scrapes down my abdomen and slips his fingers into my panties.
I jolt, but he kisses me harder, stealing any sound I might’ve made. Then he’s inside me. One finger. Two. Then three. Stretching me. The need inside me is so great I can’t breathe.
A horn echoes. Somewhere.
I jolt, remembering the driver.
I push against his chest, maybe, but I remain locked in place. One hand in my hair, the other inside me. Those three fingers begin to move, in and out, showing no mercy.
I pant, kissing him back, knowing I shouldn’t. But my body is moving against him, with him, like it has its own goal. I know what it is. Damn it.
“We’re getting close, boss,” the driver says.
A roaring fills my head, and I push harder against Justice.
He bites my lip.
The sharp sting goes through me, somehow erotic. I moan.
“Then I’ll hurry,” he says against my lips, letting me breathe for a moment. I suck in oxygen, and his words penetrate. I pull in more air to protest, and he kisses me again, driving deep in rhythm with his fingers.
It’s too much. Live wires explode inside me. He scrapes his thumb across my clit, and I explode. The climax burns, careening across every nerve inside me. He releases my mouth just in time for me to cry out. Loudly.
I shut my eyes.
The waves take me and I ride them out, pressing my lips together to keep from crying out again. A small whimper still escapes. Finally, I come down, sagging against him.
He releases my hair and then my pussy, which protests and tries to grip him. “So this is how to gain your obedience.”
I blink and look up at him, my vision clouded. Heat spirals into my cheeks, and I can never look at that driver again. “I hate you.” My words slur.
“Then you’re gonna want me dead after I fuck you a couple of times.” He sounds almost cheerful. Then, keeping my gaze, he licks his fingers clean. “Delicious.”
I don’t have the energy to punch him again. “Gross. Just gross.” Yeah, I’m cradled against him, snuggled into him in a way I can’t afford. I can’t trust any man, anybody beyond Alana and Rosy, so this can’t happen. “I’m going to kill you slowly,” I mutter.
“Maybe we should go again.” He rubs his thumb across my bottom lip.
I tear my gaze from him and pretend to study the world outside of us. It’s about two in the morning, the hour when downtown Palo Alto shows both polish and rot. LEDs glow on glass towers, and a street sweeper sends water across broken cups and napkins. A delivery bike runs a red light and vanishes. A man sleeps under a silver survival blanket near a bench lit by a boutique’s sign. The city throws sparks and shadows in equal measure, and our car swims through both.
I mark the route. University. Ramona. Bryant. We slip past late offices with screens still on and cafes that never close. The air inside the car holds whiskey, leather, and him. My pulse won’t settle. “Where are we going?” I whisper.
He turns his head so close that his breath warms my mouth. “Wherever I want.” He leans toward the front and speaks to the driver in Gaelic while his hand settles at my waist. The cadence is sharp and quick. Alana taught me enough to recognize the language, not enough to pull meaning from the words. I track the driver’s small nod and the way his grip tightens on the wheel. We avoid each other’s gazes.